


you don't need me

by vaultboii



Category: The Transformers (IDW Generation One), Transformers - All Media Types
Genre: Angst, Courtship, Fluff and Angst, M/M, Multi, Self-Hatred, i dunno i just wanted to write
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-10-24
Updated: 2017-10-24
Packaged: 2019-01-22 05:34:33
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,500
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12474604
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/vaultboii/pseuds/vaultboii
Summary: they didn't figure he'd freak out so badly to their courting





	you don't need me

**Author's Note:**

> i dunno, i was bored.
> 
> here you go.

“That’s a _damn_ joke.”

The room was in shambles. Scattered gears pocketed the shattered floor, and glass screens now sliced and crushed to fine dust coated everything. The berth was halved, one part over there and the other by his pedes. Dents layered the walls. There was Energon; yes, smeared across one wall, and little drops of pink had traced their movements from one end of the room to the next.

The talk hadn’t been a talk. Words had been spoken, emotions had flared, and wrath had struck them all senseless, even the little one. What good had it been? The helicopter had lost dignity, the little one had lost kindness, and he had lost little patience that had been stored away for times such as these.

But the helicopter had faltered. Maybe it was the earlier words shared between them, or how the little one refused to destroy a servo on him even as he threatened homicide. Maybe it was how he hefted the sword between them as if backing away a rampaging Turbofox. Whatever the meaning, it had Whirl backing away with his servos clicking rapidly together, rage still present but reined.

Alarms were blaring now. Cyclonus shifted his weight backwards with the sword and huffed.

“Would we joke about this?” Tailgate still held his fists clenched, next to the dents in the walls – his handiwork. Polite Tailgate had faded away when Whirl had bashed Cyclonus against the wall, aiming ferociously for the horns again. “Why are you taking it this way?”

Whirl’s wings twitched. “Frag off,” he said again. That’s all he had been saying. It was as if something had clicked off with the mech, vocalizer unable to speak and when it did, it resorted to insults. “You don’t need me. It’s a damn joke, just a damn _joke_ , alright?”

“Would I joke about such things?” Cyclonus said, and blocked answering punch with the blunt end of the sword. “Whirl, _listen_.”

“You don’t need me.” It was the same phrase, over and over, sung loudly to the eavesdropping mechs crouched outside the door. Rung still stood between the doorframe of Whirl’s trashed room, frozen between helping and leaving.  “Who needs me? Not you. Not _anyone_.”

“Listen. You are special to us, Whirl.” Whirl spun and kicked, but he got his blade up before and shoved the mech and attack back. “You have been _helpful_ , and _trustworthy_ , and very, very _encouraging._ ”

“Frag off,” repeated Whirl, optic unfocusing and refocusing with wrath, still clenching his servos. “Frag off, frag off.”

How had this occurred? They planned it out perfectly. The subtle gestures. The kind words exchanged after conversations. The gifts. Tailgate had picked those out; the gears, the clock-building sets appearing without explanation in Whirl’s suite, the newest copy of that literature piece about cheesy romance and war that Whirl had the ‘slightest’ affection for. All had been planned, and worked on, and manipulated so carefully that Whirl had seemed to start opening up. Had seemed to laugh a little more with them, his field a little looser, was letting a few more emotions out than the normal.

Then they had told him about their plan, and the mech had closed up. Shut down. His initial reaction was outstanding; he had frozen, servos stiff over his recent project. He did not speak, only stood stiff, and it was only after their concerned _‘Whirl?’_ was when he started swearing. Was when he started trembling.

“You don’t need me,” the helicopter had sworn, and the fighting broke out.

The attack rang swift again, and he took it to the side of the helm; Tailgate, leaping forth, swung a block that pushed their wrathful friend back and his lover to his side. “Stop!” The mech snapped, stepping between him and the helicopter. “Whirl. Stop!”

“Shut up,” the helicopter snarled back, but the words were weaker now. “You don’t need _me_.”

But how could he not see they needed him? Without him, he would be missing the one beside him; without him, that sarcastic voice would be missing. He was vexing at times, even Tailgate had to admit that – and that internal voice could come out cruel. That didn’t mean they couldn’t love him.

Love. A powerful word. They had both discussed it. Was it love, truly? It tasted too harsh to be the gentle whispers of love, but Whirl had dominated his thoughts of late. Attraction, they had settled on. An attraction.

And it was mutual: the mech himself had unknowingly confessed. Whirl was interested when Swerve had casually picked up a conversation regarding Tailgate’s ‘consideration’ of a third berth partner.  ‘ _He said as long as it’s with Cyclonus too,’_ the small bot had reported to him almost giddily. It had cost him ten shanix for that info, and another five to try keeping it down low. Despite his efforts, most on board heard the news except said helicopter, and knowing stares ogled when they talked to the mech, or smiled at him, or did anything that had the sentence _‘Whirl’_ in it. _Yes, it was the love-struck couple’s attraction to the absolutely mental helicopter_ , lamented the crew. _What a shame, that attraction._

 _They might’ve been right about it being a_ _shame_ , he thought again as Whirl staggered to the side still muttering the same sentence over and over, a loop of self-desecration.

He took a step forward. Nothing happened. Whirl stayed slumped against the wall, optic dull as if in recharge. “Whirl,” he insisted, and took another step forward. Tailgate took his servo, cautiously following suit. “ _Whirl_.”

“I will mess up,” Whirl interrupted, still hunched over his claws, clicking gently together with an unnerving amount of restraint. The answer came stuttered, unclear as the mech carefully avoided his optics. “I mess up everything. I’m not needed.”

“That’s not true!” Tailgate blurted out, then stumbled back a few words and fumbled for supporting evidence. “...You won’t. I believe you won’t.”

Whirl laughed. It was hollow, and weak. Sarcasm dripped at its edges. “Me? Living up to your beliefs? More chance of Ultra Magnus’ fallin’ for Megatron’s shiny aft; no, you have _him_ ,” and a loose gesture was swung in Cyclonus’ direction. “You have _him_. Trust me, pip-squeak, you don’t want me in your life.”

“I do.” He said, and the room fell to rocky silence.

“That’s a _damn_ joke. Why in frikkin’ hell would you want me?” Whirl finally choked, hysteria edging at his tone. The helicopter twitched again, and snarled, but it wasn’t wrath this time. Whirl was afraid. Whirl was afraid of this. “Can’t you see me? I’m Whirl. Whirl, the frag-up. Whirl, the glitched aft. I wear those names with pride, and yet you still...the actual –” The sentence ended in unintelligible spluttering, and wide gestures at the helicopter himself. “Look. At. This. What type of crankcase mech with dignity would want this? You got Tailgate. You don’t need me.”

“I stand by what I said. Every word of it.”

“You’re a _friggin_ _’_ liar, that’s what you are.” Whirl slumped a little lower, and his claws shook a bit more. “Liar. Frag off.”

 _He wasn’t going to listen to words_ , Cyclonus realized – a little slower of a realization than he anticipated, and frankly, embarrassing. When had Whirl ever listened to words? Had he taken heed of anything said to him?

He took another step. And another. And another, until he could trace the seams of the mech’s plating with his optics. Whirl didn’t notice. Tailgate did.

He placed a servo on Whirl’s shoulder.

The mech snapped up. The claw swung up, but he had anticipated that, and his other servo caught it in his own, gently. Tailgate caught the mech’s hips into a hug, and that caused Whirl to stiffen, wings frozen. A sight they made; his servo, wrapped steadily around Whirl’s claw and the other clinging to his shoulder-plating, Tailgate’s hug more a death-grip to prevent Whirl from braining both of them.

“I wanted to court you.” They whispered into the mech’s audials. “We wanted to court you.”

Time stilled.

And Whirl slumped. It wasn’t slow; it was _slaggin’_ fast, and the sudden weight almost had him reeling to the ground. Anger drained out of the mech faster than Swerve’s regulars downed drinks; tension once set in the mech’s plating loosened. Tailgate’s death-grip turned to a hug quickly, and the helicopter slowly relented into their embrace.

Rung was gasping. The sound of around forty jaws hitting the ground was very loud. A groan; probably someone had lost a bet.

“You weren’t subtle about it either.” The ex-Wrecker grumbled, but it sounded fragile. “I had it figured out when mechs started staring and Swerve kept serving me drinks of blue and purple. I thought it was a joke, you guys settling for a _glitch_ like me – why not Rung, or Skids, or _slag,_ Magnus?”

“You’re our glitch.” He murmured. “Our perfectly glitched attack helicopter.”

“Oh, frag off.” Whirl gruffly said, but the click of his vents hummed otherwise.

**Author's Note:**

> if there's spelling mistakes, let me know!


End file.
